Angels Tenby Patrick Hutchison

​I wiz drivin throwe Banff ae day and saw a sign sayin there wiz a carboot at the Tesco car park. I drew inaboot an there wiz an affa boorach o cars sellin aa the odds ‘n’ eins fowk wanted rid o. I’d a raik aboot lookin at the books but they were maistly Mills & Boones or that kind o thing, nae interest tae me ava. I came upon this boot an the aaler wifie hid books mair tae my likin, so I’d a gweed raik among them. I got a twar three that interested ma. The wifie said, “It looks like ye’ll be a minty or twa, wid you look aifter the stall for me?” She added, “I’m needin tae pooder my nose!” I wiz gye surprised at this because she didna ken me fae Adam an tae leave me in charge o her stall wi some gye expensive lookin ornaments put me aff my styter. She must’ve seen my predicament and said, “I winna be lang and ye’ve got an honest face. I tellt her I didna mind lookin aifter it for her but speired fit wid happen if onybody wanted tae buy something? She laughed an replied, “Michty min are ye blin? The prices are on athing.” She pointed tae the ice cream tub. “There’s change in there!” An wi that she wiz off towards the shop. I got a fyowe mair books and saw some mair aneth the table so I’d a raik there ana. I opened ae box an inside wiz a sheep’s wool jaicket o the kind ye see in aal war films. “Michty this wid dee ma fine for vrochtin in the wids!” I tried it on and it fitted like a glove. “It suits ye!” This wiz the wifie back. I tellt her the jaicket wid be good for the winter. I did a twirl like a gype an she teen a richt laugh tae hersel. I speired at her foo muckle she’d nott for it? “Och it’s jist an aal thing and it wiz good o ye lookin aifter my stal, so wid a fiver be ower muckle?” I handed the siller ower richt awa plus one fifty for aa the books. As I left I noticed this aal mannie sittin in the front passanger seat o her car. He wiz glowrin at ma wi an angry face. A wee bittie put oot at this an mair than puzzled as tae why she got me tae look aifter her stall fin the aal man wiz sittin there. I jist shrugged my shooders and headed back tae my landy. I threw the jaicket an the books ontae the seat and left tae gyang hame tae Macduff. I showed the jaicket tae my mither and she said it wiz fae the war and she mind the pilots weerin them. There wiz a tear on the richt side but it hid been repaired but my mither didna like the dark broon stain on the inside. She said it looked like bleed that hid been washed aff at some point and it wiz in line wi the repaired tear. She tried sair tae get the stain oot but nithing she could dee wid get rid o it. But onywye it wiz aricht stain or no and I wore it in the wids and richt fine it wiz.

Aboot the hinmaist week o October I wiz takin doon a puckle firs fae the side o the main road that were gettin in the wye o high sided trucks. I’d feenished vrocht for the day and put my saw an chines in back o the landy. Fin I wint intae the cab the landrover started tae rock back an forritt as if bein buffeted by a strong wind. “Strange!” I stepped oot o the cab an there wiz hardly a breath o ween. Ower the next couple o weeks the same thing happened a fyowe mair times. I jist didna ken fit wiz causin it but I jist caa’d awa an kindo ignored it. Ae nicht though comin hame late, things got a lot worse. I wiz comin doon the Slacks at Keilhill fin the buffitin started eence mair but this time I thocht somebody hid thrown a haanfae o chuckies at my motor because I heard the pitter patter o them as they hut the side o the landy. I stopped and reversed back tae far I thocht the steens hid been thrown fae but nae a sign o onybody could I see for it wiz comin doon dark. I wiz fairly gettin puzzled aboot fit wiz gyan on, even tae the extent o checkin oot the suspension o my landy. For a fyle aifter that nithing happened an I thocht the grease I’d pitten in the suspension hid fixed the problem. Aye but it wisna tae last because ae nicht as weel as the usual buffetin an chuckies hittin the side o my ladny I saw flashes like lichtin. The buffetin got as bad it wiz like tae pit ma aff the road. The thumpin an bangin at the side o my landy wiz unreal an fin I got hame I checked oot the bodywork tae see if there wiz ony damage. But apart fae the normal bashes an dints ye’d expect fae a vehicle that spent maist o its life in the wids there wisna a mark.

Aboot a week later I’d been takin a puckle trees doon up the Cullen wye for the Hydro. Big bonny beech trees they were but as they were ower near the power lines they hid tae come doon. I vrocht late sneddin the branches an cuttin them intae cloggies, that wiz een o my perks I got aa the limbs tae masel. I planned tae tak the boggie up wi ma neist day an load up. My mither wid be fair kinichted wi the beech cloggies for they burned like a canle.

On the wye hame tae Macduff the bangin an flashin started again at this side o Portsoy but even mair coorse than afore. I realised by noo that something abnormal wiz happenin. I didna ken if I should stop the landy an rin awa or jist sink the tackit an hope it wid stop. In the event the decision wiz teen oot o ma hands fin a mighty bang an something came throwe the driver’s door an punched ma fair in the richt side knockin iver inch o breath fae ma. There wiz mair flashes and things hittin the landy but I’d better things tae worry aboot as a tearin pain tore at my intimmers. Fin I put doon ma hand I could feel the bleed pumpin ower it. “Some bastard hit shot ma, for Christ’s sake!” By this time I could feel my heed begin tae sweem and my een got affa blurry but even throwe the haze I kent nae tae stop because faiver hid shot ma micht come an finish the job. I vaguely mind keepin tae the richt side o the road then the next thing I kent I’m in a hospital bed wi tubes stickin oot o ma aa ower the place. A doctor came inaboot an speired foo I wiz feelin but my reply made nae sense tae me so I dinna ken fit it sounded like tae him. He jist smiled and left.

Ower the next couple o days I manage tae get up and aboot but my side wiz affa sair. The police came tae tak a statement. They’d found my landy crashed intae the gates o the Roads Department’s yard at Boyndie and mysel tryin tae climb the high gates for some reason. So I tellt them fit hid happened and that some bugger hid shot ma. I couldna explain why I’d been tryin tae climb the gate because I mind nithing aboot that. This started a big search o the area but nithin wiz found. The landy hid mair holes in it than a sieve and they said I wiz lucky tae be alive. The police that found me hid pushed dressings they cairried in their first aid kit intae the hole in my side then rushed me tae Chalmers Hospital.

The doctor that saved my life came tae see me. His father wiz a doctor at Banff but on the nicht I wiz brocht in he wiz fullin in for his father. He’d jist came hame fae a tour o duty in Afghanistan and spotted immediately that I’d shrapnel wounds and hid operated tae stop the bleedin. Athoot that I’d be in a box. Of course I thanked him for my life and we got tae newsin aboot fit hid happened. I tellt him aa the things I couldna tell the police, aboot the strange flashes and bangs ower the past couple months. I thocht he’d laugh at ma but he didna. Instead he handed me a copy o that week’s Banffie sayin, “Read this!”

The Banffie hid ran the story aboot the mystery surrounding the shooting on the road atween Portsoy an Banff and aboot me how ill I wiz blah blah but it wiz the end o the article that made the hairs on the back o my neck stand up. The landrover had been found crashed into the gateway of the Roads Department’s yard at Boyndie, which had once been the hospital for the old wartime aerodrome nearby. A lot o pennies started tae faa intae place at this revelation but I kept it tae masel. Eventually I made a full recovery fae my wounds.

The next year I wint back tae the carboot that wiz held the same time each year tae see if I could find the wifie that hid sellt ma the jaicket. By good luck she wiz there wi her stall and I wint inaboot an got newsin tae her. I speired her aboot the jaicket so she tellt ma it wiz her father’s. He’d flown mosquitoes fae Boyndie during the war, deein sweeps across the North Sea tae attack German convoys aff the coast o occupied Norway. She tellt ma on one attack they’d came under heavy fire fae a German flack ship and hid been badly damaged. His navigator hid been killed and her father badly wounded but somehow he’d managed tae get back and hid made a crash landing at Boyndie. My hert by this time wiz gyan like a trip haimmer. I could hardly speak but I managed tae compose masel lang enough tae spear, “Far aboot wiz yer father wounded?” She pointed tae her richt side and said a lump o shrapnel fae the flack hid made a hole the size o her fist intae his side. So I tellt her athing aboot fit hid happened tae me, even tae showin her the fist sized scar in my side. But fin I tellt her aboot the aal mannie sittin in her passenger seat glowrin at ma fin I left wi the jaicket that she got gye upset. She teen a photo fae her handbag an showed it tae ma sayin this wiz teen a couple years afore he died. “Aye, that’s the man richt enough! He seemed affa angry an glowered at ma!” The woman hid tae sit doon on the tailgate o her car an I thocht she’d pass oot athegither. She then tellt ma that her father hid always said that fin he died he wanted his Irvine fleein jaicket draped ower his coffin. In the event she’d forgotten aa aboot his wish and by the time she remembered it wiz ower late. She’d kept his jaicket for years but hid thocht that somebody could get the gweed o it, so last year hid decided tae sell it at the carboot.

Onywye between us we decided tae gie her father his wish and approached the cooncil. Of course we’d tae tell them the reason as tae why we nott the grave opened an tae oor surprise they listened wi a sympathetic ear. Permission wiz granted and on the appointed day the grun opened at Myrus cemetery, Macduff. Baith o us stood there as the lads cleared the earth awa and checked the coffin wiz still in ae bit. By gweed luck athing wiz fine and we went forritt tae pit the jaicket doon the hole. The woman turned tae me sayin, “Since you suffered maist because o that jaicket wid you like tae pit it in place?” Takin it fae her I wint doon intae the grave and placed it on the coffin and tae this day I’m sure I heard radio static and voices fae the past chatterin awa and one voice as clear as a bell say:

“This is red leader at angels ten!”

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About the Author

​Patrick Hutchison was born in New Deer, Aberdeenshire, in the mid-Fifties and has lived all his life in the North-East of Scotland. Now retired, he loves the stories and folklore of the area and writes all his own stories in the Banffshire Doric.